Of Little Dragons and Maidens Fair
by Fyrie
Summary: Curses are terrible things, but sometimes, they can be most illuminating.


**NOTES**: This may potentially be the fluffiest thing I have ever written in my life. It doesn't stop me loving it :)  
Also, in case anyone cares, I have a tumblr account (Amuseoffyre), where you can follow my babbling about Once Upon a Time, fic and and fandom.

...

Belle was startled at the sound of the massive front doors of the castle crashing inwards.

It was hardly rare for Rumpelstiltskin to go away on business, but when he returned, she only knew because he was suddenly standing in the same room as her. Usually, there would be a shriek involved, then she would swat him with whatever she happened to be holding. He always thought himself so amusing.

All the same, it was rare for him to return with such a racket.

She abandoned the stubborn stain she had been trying to work out of the carpet, gathered up her skirts, and ran through the castle to make sure the silly man was all right.

The doors were still wide open, and the daylight was cutting a broad slice across the hall. It fell on a pair of boots that looked like they had been walked out of. It fell on his dragonhide coat. It fell on an abandoned pair of leather breeches.

Belle stopped dead.

If he had decided to run in and dash about naked, that was definitely not something that had ever been mentioned in their deal.

A small, stifled sob brought her up short.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" she said cautiously. "Are you there?"

There was a frightened whimper from the shadows, and Belle edge forward.

She knew that sometimes when he did business, there was a risk of enemies casting curses. There had been one memorable occasion when he ended up with rainbow hair for three days after a miscast curse hit him, so she could only guess this was a similar problem.

She walked lightly, around the pillars that lined the wall of the hall, one by one.

"Don't look!" The voice was high-pitched, terrified, but still undeniably his. Only it seemed... younger.

"Rumpelstiltskin, what's wrong?"

The quiet sobs got louder, and Belle cast caution to the wind, walking around the final pillar.

A tiny figure was standing there, crowding himself into the corner, his back to her and his hands over his face. A child. A child barely five years old if she was any judge. Rumpelstiltskin. She recognised the tawny hair, and the fact he was drowning in the familiar red silk shirt.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she said softly, kneeling down. "It's all right."

He pressed himself further into the corner. "Not," he whispered. "All bad."

"Are you hurt?" Belle asked, worried. She reached out, touched his shoulder, and the boy gave a yelp, hunching down, little more than a ball. "What's wrong?" she asked again, thinking that aside from the obvious that he was cursed to be a child, he could be harmed.

"I'm a monster," he sobbed. "An ugly, horrible monster."

Belle sat back on her heels. "A monster? What do you mean?"

The tiny creature was rocking in the corner, hiding his face from her. "I'm all scaly and horrible and yuck."

"Oh," Belle said softly. "Well, I think you might be wrong."

His sobs quieted. "Wrong?"

"Mm-hmm," she said. "You might be a special kind of scaly."

He peeked over his shoulder at her, still hiding his face behind his tiny fingers. "Special scaly?" he whispered.

"If you let me see your hand, I can check," she offered.

He lifted one arm to hide behind the sleeve, then turned and held out one small, scaled hand towards her. Belle took it gently, turning it over and leaning close, feigning intense scrutiny.

"Hmm," she said. "Yes. This is the good kind of scaly, definitely. I know of dragons who would be very jealous of such fine golden scales."

He lowered the sleeve a little, his eyes wide and red. "Really?" he whispered.

She smiled at him, wondering if this was what he had been like as a child. "Really," she promised. His small fingers wrapped around hers and he lowered the sleeve with a shy smile. "Now, your feet must be getting cold. Shall we find you something to put on them?"

He nodded, looking down at his bare toes. "They're scaly too," he informed her solemnly. "I didn't have scales before."

"Didn't you?" she said, noting away that information as she got to her feet.

He shook his head. "I was all pink all over."

"Maybe you're turning into a dragon?" she suggested, offering him her hand.

He giggled, slipping his hand into hers. "I'd like to be a dragon," he confided. "I would be big and breathe fire and I wouldn't be scared of anyone."

Belle couldn't help smiling. "I'm sure you would," she said. She looked down at him. "Do you remember who I am?"

He looked up at her forlornly. "I don't know where this place is," he said. "Everything is all big and scary." He tugged on her hand. "But you're nice."

"I'm here to look after you," Belle said with a smile. "My name's Belle." She crouched down to his level, wrapping both her hands around his. "You don't need to be scared. This place is safe, even for little dragons."

He nodded, wide-eyed. "You won't leave me on my own?" he asked.

"I'll be here forever," she said, then straightened up. "Now, let's get you somewhere warmer."

Rather than taking him to the grander spinning room, she instead led him down into the kitchens, pausing in the laundry to find him a pair of patched stockings which were far too big for him. The oven was still warm, and the smell of the bread baked that morning was still lingering. He looked around, astonishment all over his place.

"This is just a kitchen?" he asked, trotting alongside her.

"It's a big castle," she said, drawing out one of the chairs at the broad table and helping him up onto it. "The kitchen has to be big."

He knelt up, propping his arms on the table. "Is it your castle?"

Belle shook her head with a smile. "It belongs to a very powerful man," she said, going to the pantry and fetching a pitcher of milk. She poured him a mug, and he gulped it down eagerly, leaving himself with a milky moustache. "More?"

He nodded happily. "It's very good."

"How about a sandwich as well?" she offered, as she refilled the mug. "You must be hungry. You came a long way."

His face fell. "I did?"

"I think so," she said, cutting some bread, then fetching some meats and mustard from the pantry. "We're high in the mountains here. Not many people live nearby."

"Oh." He clung onto the mug. "Do you know where my mama is? Is she here too?"

Belle looked at him in surprise. She didn't know why she was surprised. If he was thinking as the child he had once been, then he of course he would want to see his mother. "There's no one here but you and I," she said apologetically. She could see his lower lip trembling and he ducked his head over his milk. "Oh, don't cry." She set down the knife and hurried to sit beside him, putting an arm around his thin shoulders. "I'll look after you until my Master gets back." It was technically the truth, but only because when Rumpelstiltskin was back to his usual, abrasive self, he wouldn't need so much care. "When he's gets back, everything will be all right."

"C-can he find my mama?" he asked plaintively, lifting a tear-stained face to her.

She gently brushed the tears from his cheeks. "He can find anyone in the world," she assured him. "No matter how far, he'll always find who he's looking for." She pulled a kerchief from her pocket. "Now, dry your eyes, little dragon, and I'll make your sandwich."

Why she called him that, she wasn't sure. Maybe, she thought, it felt better to call him a name that wasn't Rumpelstiltskin's. It felt odd to see the small fretful child bound up with so notorious a name.

By the time he had devoured the sandwich, as well as several of her hopelessly flat attempts at fruit scones, he was looking a lot happier.

"Is this really a castle?" he asked. "A big one? With towers and everything?"

Belle couldn't help smiling. "It is," she said, gathering up the dishes from him. "I haven't even seen all of the room yet."

"We should look!" he said eagerly. "We can find treasure!"

Belle laughed. "Treasure?"

He nodded eagerly, standing up on the seat. "I bet there will be gold and jewels and magic things! We can find them all!"

Belle looked him up and down. If Rumpelstiltskin wanted to treasure-hunt in his own castle, who was she to refuse him? "Well, we can't go treasure-hunting like that," she said. "We'll need to find you some treasure-hunting boots and a hat. A proper one, like the pirates wear."

He stared at her with wide-eyed glee. "You've seen a pirate?"

"Lots of times," she said, returning to him at his chair. "I used to live in a castle by the sea." She struck a pose and flourished a spoon like a sword. "They would come to our castle and demand that we give them our booty."

He clung to the back of the chair, dancing from foot to foot. "Did you?" he demanded excitedly. "Or did you fight them with swords?"

"We gave them dinner," Belle said with a laugh. "They knew we didn't have booty, so dinner was all they would get out of us. We used to have big parties, and they would teach me all the songs my papa didn't want me to know."

Rumpelstiltskin stared up at her. "Were they... rude?"

She leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, "Very."

He giggled, hiding behind his hands again.

She offered him her hands. "Shall we go and find treasure?"

To her surprise, he leapt into her arms, wrapping his arms around her neck, his skinny legs around her waist. "You can be my pirate ship!" he declared happily.

"I'm not a ship," she said in mock-indignation.

He blinked at her. "But you're tall like a mast," he said, "and your skirt is the sail." He gave her kerchief a wave. "And that's the flag!"

Belle's lips twitched and she tried her best to keep her expression stern. He widened his eyes imploringly and gave the kerchief another hopeful little wave. "Oh, all right," she said, letting the smile break on her face. "Which way, Captain?"

"To the treasure-hunting boots!" he crowed.

Belle laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Aye, captain," she said, grabbing her skirts and swirling them as she bounded from the kitchen.

She knew the castle well enough to find her way to the room that had caught her by surprise the first time she discovered it. There were clothes there that must have been his when he was smaller, because she could think of no other reason for Rumpelstiltskin to own a child's clothing.

He seemed delighted when she set him down beside the chest, hauling out small boots that would still be far too large for him. He pulled them on, then stamped in an enthusiastic circle. "These are proper treasure-boots!" he said happily.

"Now, we need a hat to go with it," she agreed.

"Is there a hat in here?" he asked, looking around.

"Not here," she said, "but I did see a room with lots of hats."

"When I'm big," he declared, as she swung him up onto her back, "I will have a room with all the best hats."

"I'm sure you will," she said, laughing.

In the end, he ended up with a broad-brimmed scarlet hat with a feather on it to go with his shirt. He finally abandoned his ship when he realised that they could see more if they both explored a room from top to bottom.

Belle kept one eye on him at all times, wondering when this tiny, giddy, excited version of the serious and sometimes malevolently gleeful man she knew would change back. He was powerful enough that most curses would be brushed off in a matter of hours, but if it was like the hair incident, she knew she would have a distressed child on her hands by nightfall.

It took a couple of hours before they stumbled on the room she had dubbed the spinning room.

He dashed in before she could stop him, and stopped short. "Oh! Look!"

"What is it?" she asked, wondering if he'd spotted the basket of gold.

He turned a beaming smile on her. "A spinning wheel!" he said. "Mama has one of those." He hurried towards it, climbing up onto the stool he occupied most nights. "It's much bigger than mama's." he reached out to touch the spindle, then paused. "Is it yours?"

Belle shook her head. "I don't think my master would mind if you touch it," she said. How could he, really? If he broke it, then it was all his own fault for letting himself get cursed.

Rumpelstiltskin squeaked happily, reaching for the the wheel, and in moments, it was rattling as if he had been born using it.

"Did your mama teach you to spin?" she asked, standing beside him.

He nodded, watching the wheel intently. "She's the best spinner in all the land," he said, then exclaimed in surprise. "Look! It's doing something funny!" He stopped the wheel and looked at the thread he had produced, then looked up at Belle with wide eyes. "It looks like gold!"

Belle groaned inwardly. A magic child. If the curse didn't fade soon, she knew she would have a fun time ahead. Still, she plucked at it and said, "It looks like you must be magic as well, little dragon."

"Dragons are magic," he breathed, looking up at her, "If I can do magic, I must be a dragon! Do you think I'll get wings?"

She managed to smile. "Maybe," she agreed. He turned back to the wheel and started turning it again, rocking excitedly on the seat as the straw was spun into gold as fine as anything he produced as an adult. She hesitated, then gently stroked his hair. "Everyone will know your name."

He continued to spin eagerly, looking up at her occasionally, as if seeking her approval. It was strangely sad to see him looking so happy at the wheel. When he was himself, he often would sit and spin with a distant look, as if thinking. She once asked him why he spun so much, and she knew the answer was a distraction, to divert her attention from the truth. He didn't spin to forget. If anything, he kept spinning because he remembered.

Maybe he was thinking about his lost mother who was a spinner. Maybe he had other family.

There was so much of him she didn't know.

When the straw finally ran out, he sat back with a huff. "No more treasure."

"No," she agreed with a small smile, "but maybe now, it's time for dinner. I'm a little hungry."

He looked up in astonishment. "We get two meals?"

She laughed. "Of course we do," she said. "We're in a sorcerer's castle. He wouldn't let us go hungry."

Rumpelstiltskin froze where he was sitting. "S-sorcerer?" he whispered.

"One of the most powerful in the world," she said, frowning at his expression. "What's wrong?"

"Sorcerers are scary," he said, hugging her around the legs. "What if he wants to turn me into a snail and squash me? Mama said they get angry at anything! What if he's angry I touched his wheel?"

Belle gently untangled him from her legs. "He won't be angry, I promise," she said, kneeling down. "He's a good man, and he wouldn't hurt anyone." She curled his finger under his chin and lifted his face to hers. "You don't need to be scared."

He nodded, but he looked doubtful, then reached up and put his arms around her neck again.

Belle gently gathered him up in her arms, and he nestled closer, his head on her shoulder. She wondered at his fear. He had mentioned being scared so many times, she wondered what his childhood had been to make him so. If his mother was a spinner, then they were low-born, and in a world ruled by the nobility, it could be any number of terrible things that could have led to fear in one so young.

He only became more animated when she sat him down beside her in the kitchen. The fire had burned low, and she reached for wood.

"No!" he said, taking the piece of wood from her hands. "You have to make it bigger first, before you put big bits on. Big bits burn slow if the fire is little." He looked through the woodpile and found some small twigs and pieces of dried bark, which he carefully added to the dull flame, then knelt down and blew gently. The flame grew a little at a time, then he made sure was paying attention as he added the piece of wood she had chosen. "See?"

"You're much cleverer than me," Belle told him gravely. "Are you good at cooking?"

He blushed, shaking his head.

She smiled. "We can make soup," she decided. "It doesn't take long."

"Can I help?" he asked hopefully. "I can cut stuff into bits."

"Very well, little dragon," she said, smiling. "We can sit at the table and prepare everything." She offered him her hand. "Now, you come to the pantry and pick out what you would like to put in it."

In the end, after dissuading him away from adding every kind of meat and fish, just because they were there, they successfully made a pan of thick vegetable soup. It was so full of pieces of vegetable and meat that it was more like a stew, but when she lifted him up so he could stir the long, heavy spoon, he looked so proud of himself that she didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't proper soup.

"This is the best soup I ever had," he declared after his second bowl. She had no idea where he was putting it, but she supposed when a child had little, to have the chance to eat as much as he liked must be a novelty.

"I can see that," she said with a laugh. "I think you would climb into the pan and eat all of it, if I let you."

He stuck out his bottom lip, but he was trying not to giggle and she could tell. "I'm full anyway," he said. He hesitated, then asked, "Will your master be home soon?"

Belle shook her head. "I don't know, little dragon," she said, rising to gather up their dishes from the table. "But as soon as he is home, you'll know it."

He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously. "Mama will be worried," he confided. "Mama doesn't like it when she doesn't know where I am."

"Any mama would," Belle said, unable to look at him as she said it. She could barely remember her own mother's face, and even now, she missed her father so unbearably. She set the dishes on the counter, then turned and smiled. "But she'll be happy when she finds out you were safe and looked after and had good soup, won't she?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded vigorously, his hair flying all over his face.

"Now," Belle said, returning to his chair and crouching down beside it, "are you feeling tired yet?"

He shook his head, then crossed his eyes, trying to stare at his mouth in indignation when it betrayed him by yawning. "I'm not!" he protested. "We haven't even found a treasure room yet! Not anywhere!"

"Well, if my master isn't back by morning, then we can look for it then," she said firmly, putting her hands under his arms and swinging him up onto her hip. He didn't protest, putting his arms around her next and resting his head close to hers.

"Would you like to sleep in your own room?" she asked softly, as she ascended the stairs. He made a sleepy sound of protest, his arms tightening around her neck and she smoothed his hair gently. Of course he wouldn't, not when he was in a strange place, so big and frightening to him. "You can sleep in my room, then."

It was almost inappropriate, she knew. She knew it was Rumpelstiltskin. She knew he was the man who all but owned her. She knew that any virtue she had remaining would be dust in the wind if she let him into her room, knowing well the curse could break at any moment.

But she wouldn't leave a scared child to sleep alone.

Just in case, she took one of Rumpelstiltskin's own nightshirts from the laundry room as they passed. She never saw him sleep or in anything but the most formal attire, but nightshirts appeared in the laundry, so she knew he must sleep at some time or other.

"S'big," he murmured drowsily, when she set him down in her bedroom. It was, she knew. It took a couple of weeks for her to make the move from cell to room, and when it happened, Rumpelstiltskin clearly was trying to compensate her for all the discomfort he put her too.

"It's a big castle," she said. "It would be a shame to waste the nicest rooms."

He nodded, rubbing his eye sleepily with one fist.

"Here," she said, offering him the nightshirt. "You put this on, and I'll make up a bed for you on the couch."

He nodded, tugging at the buttons of the red shirt he had been wearing all day.

Belle distracted herself by taking a counterpane from her own grand bed. The couch was close enough that he would be able to see her if he woke and was afraid, but far enough that if the curse did break, then neither of them would need to feel too awkward.

By the time she turned back around, Rumpelstiltskin was half-drowned in the nightshirt, and he was tugging at it. "It feels funny," he said. "All smooth."

"It's very expensive cloth," she said with a smile, beckoning him over. "Here. You can sleep here, little dragon. It's not very big, but it'll be big enough and comfortable enough for you, and if you want me, I'll be sleeping in the bed."

He climbed up, stumbling in sleepiness, and nestled into the pillows and blankets. "Thank you, Miss Belle," he said around another yawn.

She tucked him in gently, smoothing his hair. "Would you like a story?" she offered. "Or a lullaby?"

"Lul'by?" he murmured, though his eyes were half-closed.

Belle smiled quietly. If, weeks before, her father had told her she would be singing a lullaby to Rumpelstiltskin, terror of the Enchanted Forest, she would have laughed. She searched her memory, remembering a soft shanty her father often sang to her when she was unwell.

It told the tale of a little lost selkie, trying to find her way home, and the kindly little boy who helped her.

Before she even finished the first chorus, Rumpelstiltskin was asleep.

Belle watched him in silence for a few minutes. He looked so small and frail, hardly the great terror that people whispered of. Once, he was a boy, this boy, and he had somehow become the man she now worked for.

She leaned forward and gently kissed his brow. "Sleep well, little dragon," she whispered, then rose from the side of the couch.

Her mind was still whirling, even as she changed into her own nightdress, and slipped into her chilly bed. By the candlelight, she distracted herself with a book for a while, then finally forced herself to close her eyes and try to sleep.

It was still dark when she was woken by someone small and trembling clambering onto the bed. Rumpelstiltskin was sobbing fitfully, as he searched for her in the darkness, and she sat up, offering her hands, letting him crawl closer.

"Hush, hush," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "It's all right. I'm here."

"There was a monster," he whispered, his arms going around her, his face hot and wet against her shoulder. He was trembling, and she rocked him soothingly. Virtue be damned, she thought, lifting the blankets and drawing him in to curl beside her .

"It was just a dream, little dragon," she whispered, letting him cling onto her. "Just a dream. Don't worry. I'm here."

It took a long while before his sobs quieted. She murmured softly, meaningless things, and kept running her hand gently over his hair, her own breathing level and calm enough to steady his, and gradually, his grip on her loosened as he drifted into sleep again.

Belle lay awake for a long while, just stroking his soft, tangled hair. So afraid. Why was he so afraid? What had he seen as a child that had left him trembling in the night? Was he still so afraid, even now? Or was the power there to chase the fear?

The thoughts were still chasing one another around in her mind when sleep finally caught up with her.

When she woke, daylight was breaking through the chink in the curtains.

She stirred groggily, then sat up. The bed was empty, though the blankets had still been tucked neatly around her. Her heart leapt anxiously as she looked around the room. There was no sign of Rumpelstiltskin, either the child or anything else.

She threw the blankets off, running out into the halls, and she was halfway down the broad staircase when she heard the creak of the spinning wheel.

Belle all but flew to the room, pushing the half-open door wide.

Rumpelstiltskin was himself again, standing with his back to the door. He was clad in his usual, familiar attire: breeches, shirt, waistcoat, high boots. One hand was slowly turning the wheel, though he wasn't spinning.

"You're all right," she breathed.

He didn't immediately turn. "I had an unfortunate encounter with a quite powerful little witch," he murmured. "I imagine the curse had some unpleasant side effects." He tilted his head to look at her. "I hope I didn't cause you any inconvenience?"

Belle's breath caught. "You don't remember?"

He looked at her, head to one side. "Was it terrible? Boils? Sickness?"

She looked down, unable to forgot the frightened face of the boy that the man before her once had been. She knew she wouldn't ever forget it, but for her to know his weakness could be a terrible blow to him. "No," she said quietly. "No trouble at all." She looked up at him and offered him a small smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"I am," he said, looking back at the wheel. "Thank you." He paused, then added, "I seem to be out of straw."

Belle licked her lips. "Yes. You wanted to spin. I thought it might help. Keep you busy, kind of thing, until the curse wore off."

He nodded. "Breakfast, dearie?"

"Oh! Right!" She nodded, flustered. "I forgot."

He laughed, quietly, almost gently. "And to dress, I notice," he murmured. She blushed scarlet, her hand on the door handle. "You must have had a terrible night."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I've had a lot worse," she said. "I'll get breakfast."

"Belle." His voice stopped her in her tracks. "I was thinking you might like to write to your father today, hmm?"

She turned on the spot, trembling. "Really?"

His fingertips were running along the edge of the wheel, and he wasn't look at her. "Mm. I think you deserve a little token of appreciation for your work."

"Looking after the castle?" she said disbelievingly.

He looked at her sidelong. "No," he said quietly, "Looking after a frightened child."

Belle stared at him. "You do remember."

He inclined his head. "A dragon never forgets," he said.


End file.
